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On the afternoon of February 17, 1972, 75mm of rain poured over the city in about twenty minutes, flooding the central arteries almost immediately.
The downpour caught everyone by surprise, including the team of workers working in the tunnels underneath the city. The floodwaters, with nowhere else to go, engulfed the site. Everyone miraculously survived with just small injuries.
Everyone except one, who, according to multiple (including a friend's uncle), got swept away by the heavy current, a desperate yell faintly heard among the loud rumble of the water against the tunnel's walls.
After a head count, it turned out that everyone in the team was accounted for, clearly spelling out in everyone's mind the question of who the man in the water could have been.
They never found the body, instead finding a large, vertical hole in a cavity off to the side of the tunnel, presumably where all that and, presumably, the body, went.
When a rock was dropped into the hole to see just how deep it went, it took an uncomfortably long time for the splash to make itself heard, the sound reverberating against the perfect curves of the cavity.
You wait with your fellow men, cooped up by dozens at the edge of the abyss as the rock falls deeper and deeper into the dark.
It must just be the low light, the water and tiredness, but you swear you can see the tunnel walls pulsating.
The splash never comes.